


Feel It Too

by Niler



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Companion Piece, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2744159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niler/pseuds/Niler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam loses it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel It Too

**Author's Note:**

> Companion to Feel It
> 
> (if you're waiting for the next chapter of End of The Road it's coming tomorrow. I'm a little busy at the moment)

 Louis was a good driver – except when he was trying to flirt with Harry. 

They'd picked him and Zayn up from Zayn's place and were driving across town, flirting all the way. 

Zayn had done the sensible thing and nodded off, leaving him to drive from the backseat, _not_ silently scream as he watched Louis take his eyes off the road for what felt like minutes at a time. 

He couldn't even say 'guys, come on' since he knew that'd only make Louis notice and therefore consciously _try_ to give him multiple heart attacks. No, the best thing was to join Zayn in slumber, resolve (for the 100th time) to make a will in the event of his imminent demise, which seemed more and more likely by the day. 

Basically, let it go.

Easier said than done, of course. For a start it wasn't only the clear and present danger posed by Louis' driving that was disturbing his ability to relax; the guy draped across him wasn't helping any. 

He and Zayn had always had a bit of a spark – different from the affection he felt for the others. They didn't exactly have a background in common, yet in many ways they were more similar in that way than the others, seemed to understand one another in a way that was just a little different to the commonality they all shared. Or at least that's what he'd always told himself, determined to find an explanation for the way he was so drawn to Zayn. 

He looked down at Zayn's head, heavy against his belly. 

How the hell was he even sleeping in that position? He wouldn't disturb him, though – he seemed tired, bit out of it. 

He was aware that Zayn liked to party and had learned not to ask him about that side of his life. Zayn didn’t share with any of them, so they did him the courtesy of never asking. But Liam was – had always been – curious, aware that even a steady relationship seemed to make no noticeable difference to Zayn's tendency to fuck around. 

He didn’t like it, couldn't lie; it was such an alien concept, though – in a relationship, yet still fucking around with other people? How did you do that? How could you get your head to make that work? Whenever he was with someone he couldn't even _think_ of being with anyone else. It was like making a vow- oh not like a marriage vow, but just because you weren't saying you were going to spend the rest of your life with a girl, swearing to it in a church, in front of witnesses, that didn't make it any less important, any less binding. It wasn't an obligation, it was a courtesy. He didn’t expect his girlfriend to be sleeping with anyone else when they were involved, so he wasn't going to either. And thinking about it, considering it, wanting it was as bad as actually doing it, so as soon as he made a commitment – asked someone to be his girlfriend – then he put a wall around himself – nothing in, nothing out, everything for her, everything belonging just to her. 

It was such an obvious thing, an essential thing, that he was always surprised when it was clear that other people had no respect for his walls at all; that they’d keep tapping on them, testing them, occasionally making sections weak enough to allow a breach... 

Of course he'd work overtime to shore them up, restore the foundations, try to make them stronger this time, but the point was that he shouldn't have had to do this – it should be a universally respected, universally understood convention that a commitment was a commitment and that one simply should not trespass... 

Zayn woke up. 

Although he didn't move, Liam could just tell he was wake. He should have said something, made a joke or something, instead he slowed his breathing, allowed his fingers to caress Zayn's arm in a slow, barely there movement that he was aware sent a shiver through Zayn's body. He could feel – and hear - his breath catch and when Zayn turned to meet his eyes he couldn't even find wit enough to defuse the moment with a silly grin... 

  


 ** 

Louis had become quite domesticated. 

It wasn't natural for him, but he was learning. He'd long lost the urge to pretend not to be under Harry's thumb when it came to their home life; had pretty much admitted that he'd curb his tendencies to lazy chaos for Harry's sake. You did that, though, did that sort of thing for the person you loved. Besides, he suspected that Louis was only that way because he'd been allowed to get away with it (although, he was definitely untidy) but he'd definitely met his match in Harry, who wouldn't shout at you, but would, in time, wear you down, train you so well, that you'd wake up one morning and realise, to your astonishment, that you'd somehow become domesticated... 

Liam, for one, was very glad to see this side of Louis – it made for fewer arguments and a much tidier environment. The only downside to this was that the influencing of each other worked in reverse too, of course, so while Harry's natural bent was to be a fabulous, thoughtful host, Louis' influence diluted this natural tendency – a lot - which is how they came to find themselves banished to the kitchen with the onerous task of preparing a meal for everyone. 

Zayn was a damn good cook, but he was a bit like Louis in that he had a tendency to let other people do what he could bloody well could do - just through sheer bloody-minded idleness. 

Making a plate of sandwiches though; no way to shirk the duties on that one. 

“Ham isn't really pork.” 

Zayn snorted. “Nice try, but no thanks.” 

“Harry buys the really nice one.” He took a slice, bit it, offered him the rest. “Here, have a bite.” 

“Which part of 'doesn't eat pork' do you not understand?” 

“The part where you're only a practising Muslim when it suits you.” 

Zayn's facial expression accompanied by the nonchalant shrug, acknowledged the score, but he didn't take the proffered cold cut. “Just chicken and cheese for me.” 

“It's not halal,” he warned with faux concern. 

“Haha. Just-” He plonked the loaf of bread in front of him. “Butter some bread, man.” 

“Oh you like giving the orders, don't you?” 

“That I do.” 

He also liked to make him uncomfortable by getting so far into his personal space they were pretty much breathing the same air. Liam knew this, but was unable to get his body to listen when he told it not to react. 

He'd kissed him once, but you couldn't really call it a proper kiss. No, he'd run before there was any chance it could develop into one, and there was an unspoken understanding between them that Zayn had never forgiven him for this, that he was being punished for his cowardice. 

Zayn saw it as cowardice. Didn’t need to talk about it (which of course they never had) to know that. But then Zayn was the guy who cheated on his girlfriend even when Liam was sure he had real feelings for her. He seemed unable to understand the conventions of fidelity; that it hurt to be cheated on, that just because you were satisfied that your infidelity didn't change your feelings toward your girlfriend that it didn't mean that it didn't change the way _they_ thought you felt about them. 

Zayn was quicksand and he was too canny to ever get pulled under. Didn't mean that he didn't always have to watch his step, keep every sense on full alert, look for all the warning signs designed to let you know you were approaching the quagmire. The trouble here was that the signs were so _alluring_ that rather than sending him running away they were pulling him in, telling him just how good it would feel to be pulled under, to drown. 

Zayn was strong, fit, but there was something about his slenderness that brought all Liam's primal instincts to the fore and so every time he touched him, held him, picked him up, that part of him would growl a little, protest being held at bay. 

Liam knew it was probably only a matter of time before it became too big and unruly for him to keep in the cage he'd felt certain would be enough. And now that Dani was no longer there to be used as a reason to keep the walls so high and unscalable he saw Zayn as a sleek cat prowling just beyond the perimeter; at night sitting patiently watching and waiting, his eyes the self-confident golden-yellow of a predator. 

Any day now he expected to wake up to find Zayn standing atop the ruins of his castle walls, tail swishing from side to side in gleeful triumph. 

But today was not going to be that day; he'd made plans to return home just so as to _ensure_ that today would not be that day. It was obvious that Zayn had designs on him – he'd seen the hastily stowed overnight bag – and he was just as determined to make it as difficult as possible to put those plans into practice. Pretty obvious that Zayn was sure that the break with Dani was his passport to whatever he wanted from him. But he wasn't that easy, wasn't ready for any of the mess that Zayn brought with him, and no matter how hard Zayn made him-it- made it for him he'd ask Louis to drive him home – or he'd get a taxi. 

What was certain was that he would not fall for any of Zayn's tricks. Absolutely not ready... 

  


** 

  


Zayn tasted of alcohol, but he supposed he did too. 

Of course that was probably the explanation for why he was going at Zayn's mouth like a madman. 

Wet heat driving him crazy: just the intimacy of it, the gut deep thrill of finally knowing from the inside how the hairs on Zayn's top lip felt against his mouth, under his tongue. 

He could feel the hardness of Zayn's knees digging into his hips, the sharp bite of nails at the nape of his neck, the electric sensation of hands rubbing his head, searching desperately for hair to grab, and pulled back to reassert control, losing it a second later when Zayn moaned and hauled him back. 

He didn't doubt that anyone watching them kiss would believe that they could do this - just this - all night, that it might be enough to make either one - both - of them come with the force of a geyser. 

He felt like a 13 year old kid for whom, kissing _was_ sex, using his tongue like it was his cock, pushing in, stroking, exploring; pulling out and in again, so far in that he was sure they'd both choke. And Zayn let him, allowed him, encouraged him, enticed him, all the while moaning like Liam had never heard a guy moan before, effectively ramping up the crazy to a screaming red for danger. 

He was going to suck him – that was fucking certain – fuck him too, so long as he didn't have to go and find anything, if he could slide into him like butter, sink into warm heat, just nail him right there on the table. 

He'd already torn most of Zayn's clothes from his upper body and went hunting now for skin, biting and kissing all the way down to his tattoo which he licked, tongue finding its way to his navel, then lower.   

He'd smelled male arousal before, but not like this. 

He swore he was actually drooling now, his body getting him ready for Zayn's cock, for the hard length of it in his mouth, kindly, efficiently lubricating the way. 

Zayn's hands on his as he undid his belt, unzipped him, pulled his jeans down and off was his passport straight into the danger zone, and with red all he could see, he pulled Zayn up by the legs, settled them around his waist, shoved both hands hard and firm under his arse and simply gobbled him up. 

He hadn’t known what to expect, had probably expected it to yield a little more, but he couldn’t believe how it felt in his mouth. He knew how that felt, how it felt to first enter the warm heat of a willing mouth; how it felt when you did this, closed your lips around the head like that; when you slowly slid your mouth down, all the way down till you could feel his cock enter your throat, your nose caress his pubic hair. 

He understood now why men liked it when other guys sucked them off – when you knew how it felt it made a difference to what you did and how you did it. For instance, this – women _never_ did this – and Zayn's yowl of pleasure made him close his eyes, hands clenching in some atavistic triumph he couldn't explain even to himself. 

Zayn was babbling, whimpering, head thrown back, body arched; completely surrendered to Liam's will. His hands on Liam's thighs made Liam feel powerful, supercharged, like he could do anything he wanted to him and he'd allow it. 

“Come on,” he urged, tonguing the length of Zayn's cock, then sucking the balls gently into his mouth. “Let me do this.” 

“Liam. Liam.” His voice was cracked, barely above a whisper. He sounded like he'd been running a marathon. 

Liam deep-throated him, just for the hell of it, just because he liked the way Zayn's breath held, the way his fingers clenched, the way his thighs just spread like he was begging to be fucked. And just because _he_ liked how it felt, how Zayn's cock felt in his mouth, what it meant to be pleasuring him this way. 

He heard the door open, but didn’t stop, too far gone to even care... 

When it closed a second later he knew it had been Harry. 

His relief was short-lived when he heard it open again a few seconds later, and stay open. He didn't need to be told that while Harry would leave them to it, Louis would return – with Harry – and they'd watch.... 

He was definitely too far gone to care about that on _his_ behalf, but a far off part of him growled in possessive displeasure that any but he should be allowed to see _Zayn_ that way... 


End file.
